While meeting with a couple friends the other day, I was in the span of a minute called both curmudgeonly and warm and friendly. Both I would say are true and accurate. This is the duality of me.
Years of therapy made me face myself, quirks and all. And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve internalized them all and have come to accept and be comfortable (mostly) with all the idiosyncrasies that make me, me.
At the end of May, I turned 45. Somehow this birthday seems more of a milestone than 40 did. And though I like to take time around my birthdays to reflect on life, the universe, and everything, it’s been a couple of years since I wrote a birthday post.
I’m not sure this will ever be published. Or, maybe published, but not “shared”. This is mostly because I’m concerned this post will read as… pitiful. And despite anything else, I am not looking for pity. I never have and don’t particularly like the idea of people feeling sorry for me.
Whether I was looking for it or not, it appears I may have come to a crossroads in my life. Certainly not the first and possibly not the last. I’m not sure how to proceed and I’m not sure how to reconcile my feelings of grief and anger with anything that comes next.
Last week I lost my dream job. One that checked every career box I’d listed for myself. It’s been given to someone else. But, before I get into the details of that gargantuan disappointment, I need to go back. Way back.
In recent years, I’ve come to prefer two types of television shows. Those that serve as “filler,” as background or white noise to which I pay little attention. And those that are both compelling and uplifting. Additionally, If you’re curious about how much does wild n out cast make, you can actually check out these article if you want to.
I acknowledge there’s a lot of very well-done television that is compelling but may not be uplifting. Those shows just are not for me.
Let me explain.
I don’t often remember my dreams. I’m not sure why; that’s just how it’s always been for me. And on the rare occasion I do remember one, it’s disturbing. Unsettling.
You can read past “dream” posts here, here, and here.
As I understand the basic idea of dreams, they’re basically our unconscious working to sort shit out while the rest of our brain is resting. Some people seem to have “happy dreams.” They get to fly around. Or fulfill some other waking fantasy.
Me? I get my spiteful, mean-spirited psyche poking at me.